


One of a Thousand

by Traykor



Category: Haroun and the Sea of Stories - Salman Rushdie
Genre: F/M, somewhat meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 01:19:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traykor/pseuds/Traykor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Blabbermouth became a page.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of a Thousand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lotesse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotesse/gifts).



> I love the meta soup that is this book.

Once, when Mudra felt she had learned enough of the Ancient Gesture Language of Abhinaya to do so, and truth be told as a way of testing how well she’d learned it, Mudra asked Blabbermouth to tell him the tale of how she came to be a Page in the Great Library of Gup. For, he told her, surely it must be such a tale as would best be accompanied by the beauty of Gestures, nothing as exciting as the shadowy subterfuge of hidden identity could be properly expressed though words alone. Blabbermouth allowed that it would probably be so, but it would be the rudest of Gestures more in use than the others, it was a short tale and not nearly as interesting as one might suppose, but it had her parents and Prince Bolo in it, which therefore guaranteed the need for many rude Gestures.  
Mudra replied that that was just as well, for the rude ones were the Gestures Blabbermouth had learned best, and could indeed insult one as though the most native of speakers.  
(He said this knowing it would please her, for Mudra was wise and knew the art of flattery relied upon knowing what to flatter, and those who relied upon the same common attribute to flatter all would never get anywhere with anyone interesting.)  
This is the tale as Blabbermouth tells it.  
(I apologize, dear reader, that the fullness of the appropriate gestures cannot be rendered in text, though your humble storyteller has attempted to relay them where needed, please imagine the following told in the Great and Ancient Language of Gestures.)

Once, in the city of Gup on the Sea of Stories, there was a girl with far too many brothers and sisters. There were large ones and small ones and in between ones. The mother and father of these many children were Traditional (and here you must imagine a Gesture most rude), by which I mean they didn’t want their children to do anything interesting ever at all. They insisted on calling all the interesting things ‘dangerous’, as though that would fool anyone at all into thinking that trees should not be climbed and roofs should not be sat upon or used as launch pads for flying experiments. Fortunately for me, I was one of the In Betweens, neither an Older Child or a Younger One, for Older Children are forever being told to look after Younger Ones to keep them from interesting things (ah, the sneer and flipped hand of a Great Annoyance here was done perfectly).  
In Betweens can escape, in fact, if one is careful, they can disappear until someone thinks to count everyone up and see who has gone missing.  
I decided to disappear in the middle of a particularly chaotic day once (one of the Younger Ones had escaped everyone’s notice for too long and attempted to learn cooking without having the sense to ask for instructions. The kitchen was never quite the same).  
I was determined to have an adventure. Everyone knows that long hair gets in the way during adventures, so I had tucked mine up under a hat.  
I had not wandered far, or long, when I spotted a Stranger. Strange indeed was this Stranger, for she was dressed in waders and had a great pack on her back. She didn’t look like she belonged in our little corner of Gup; she didn’t look like she belonged in Gup at all. (The proper Gesture of wonderment and longing present here cannot be properly described)  
She was closely examining a map, which, as any fool can tell you, is an absolute sign that someone is lost. I was certain my boredom would be broken soon.  
“Hello, most interesting and obviously lost stranger!” I said as I ran up to her, “Can I help you find your way, and accompany you out of here?”  
“Oh, hello. I am a bit lost. I was trying to get to the palace? I’m expected.”  
“I know the way,” I lied. I didn’t, but I knew the general direction at least and figured I could fake it. “My name is Blabbermouth.”  
“I am Kam Bell. I’m a Researcher from Very Far Away. I’ve come to look into the mother stories, the great old stories from which all other stories come.”  
“Oh, a Metaologist.” I tried not to sound too disinterested. Metaology was never my favorite subject at school. She peered at me closely, then seemed to come to a decision.  
“All right then, lead the way.”  
I set us off in the direction of the largest waterway I knew the location of, for surely the busier the waterways, the closer to the more important things like the palace?  
As we wandered Kam Bell explained about her research looking for the parts of the story common to each stream of ‘hero goes away and comes back’ story.  
“Won’t that take forever?” I asked. “There are thousands of that sort of story.”  
“Indeed, the hero tale has a great many variants, but also a great many things are the same in all of them. That is why I want to go and see the Old Tales in the south. I feel they will have the best evidence for my research.”  
“Common. Like the fact that it is nearly always a boy. Why do boys get to be heroes and go off on adventures and rescue princesses, but girls are rescued or have to defeat the evil darkness with the power of love or a single perfect tear, or just wake up and nothing they did mattered.”  
“And when they do get to be heroes it seems they often win by doing things like accidentally hitting the witch with a bucket of water, not by intention or skill? Too many male storytellers, for one. Too many male storytellers. Folks tell what they know, and the loudest voices tell the tales that get told the most. Then you have the Use of Stories, which despite the occasional Subversive Nature are generally supposed to Reinforce the Status Quo.”  
(Please imagine here the Gesture of Great and Long Suffering Anger at Unfair Forces Greater Than Oneself. Sadly such Gesture is too rude to even describe.)  
We passed the rest of our travels in discussion of this same topic, and had my Metaology teacher ever spoken so clearly I might have like the class better. To my surprise, as I hadn’t been paying any attention to where we were going, we soon arrived at the Palace. A great many Pages and Important People were rushing about setting up for an obviously Important Event. Prince Bolo noticed us entering the square from the middle of the flurry of activity, where he was ordering a great many people about.  
“Ms. Bell! We have been searching everywhere for you! We feared Something Had Happened to you!”  
“Such drama.” I muttered under my breath.  
“I got a bit lost on my walk. I was collecting interesting samples from overlooked places. Thankfully the people of Gup are so friendly, Blabbermouth here guided me back.”  
“Oh. Well, thank you boy, Blabbermouth was it? For being so helpful in returning a very important guest to us.”  
I could tell that Kam was about to correct the Prince on the boy part, so I interrupted.  
“Thank you, your highness. I try to be a good lad. Always wanting to be of use, that’s me. I don’t suppose your Highness is looking to hire on any more pages?”  
The prince considered me for a moment. “Well, that was bold of you. I do like a bold boy for a page. Alright then, you’re hired. Report for work tomorrow though, we’re all busy today.”  
Kam Bell was watching me closely throughout this exchange. When the Prince turned to lead her away, she shook my hand and leaned in to whisper:  
“People do see what they expect to see. A hero has a thousand faces. Why shouldn’t one of them be yours?”  
She winked, and hurried after the prince.


End file.
